


The late year lies down the north

by HopefulNebula



Series: Of shadows on the stars [3]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canon Compliant, Female Friendship, Gen, Healing, Leadership, POV Third Person, Pre-Series, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 01:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: Philippa knows better than to be in full-on captain mode when addressing certain issues with her crew. Her first officer's grief regarding an away mission gone bad is one of those issues.





	The late year lies down the north

**Author's Note:**

> I told you that Yuletide wouldn't be the end of it.
> 
> This fic references events mentioned in "[Rise in Perfect Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13563705)", which isn't part of this series, but neither story depends on the other.

Michael Burnham's distress has been its own tangible presence on the bridge of the _Shenzhou_ lately. Her outward behavior is, of course, exactly as it had been two weeks ago. There are moments, though, that indicate a pain deeper than a single grief, the kind of emotional wound that risks being reopened every time it's touched, or turning into a scar large enough to choke her.

Captain Georgiou knows that if she tries to address the deeper grief directly, she'll likely damage her relationship with her first officer. They've only known each other for a few months, and the commander isn't yet comfortable enough in her present situation to trust her captain with her past.

However, she can help Commander Burnham heal the immediate wound. As the captain, she would be remiss if she didn't at least make the attempt.

Philippa Georgiou has never been one to turn down an opportunity simply because it isn't perfect. As soon as the opportunity presents itself during their off hours, she resolves to track down her Number One so they can address the situation.

* * *

The scanners indicate Michael is in one of the auxiliary gyms, the one where the gravity plating is set slightly heavier than ship's norm. The room doesn't see much use, especially not by humans, so it's a good place for someone raised on a planet with higher gravity than Earth's to be alone.

It also means they can have this discussion in relative privacy, and on neutral ground.

Philippa enters the room, careful to avoid stumbling at the threshold, and is immediately glad that Michael's sparring partner is a sandbag instead of a sentient being. Michael doesn't look up, doesn't pause for a second as she delivers a high kick to the sandbag and ducks, dodging an imaginary blow.

It takes perhaps five minutes for Michael to notice her audience. When she does, she stands up as straight as she can without actually standing at attention.

"Captain?" she asks.

"Let's take a walk," Philippa says, nodding toward the treadmills. Michael stands stunned for a moment, unsure what to say, and finally gives in to the non-order. She sets her treadmill to a light run. Philippa sets hers at a slower pace; there's no point in ruining her concentration (or her knees) for this. "Starfleet just sent me their assessment of the away mission," she continues, once they've found their respective paces. "They found your actions on the freighter commendable, and so do I."

Michael doesn't break her stride, but something in her demeanor changes, and Philippa knows she's touched the nerve she was aiming for. Michael says nothing, however, so she continues:

"You feel responsible for what happened." It isn't a question. Michael nods anyway. "Good." _That_ gets Michael stumbling a little, but she recovers with admirable grace. "You were in command. That makes you responsible in many ways. But you didn't kill Ensigns Capa and Tanaka."

Michael turns up the speed on her treadmill and keeps her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her, but remains silent. Philippa keeps walking beside her Number One. Sometimes waiting is the best tool she has.

After a minute, Michael stops her treadmill entirely and finally turns to face her captain. "If you're concerned about my performance, you should simply tell me," she says.

Well, it's a start.

Philippa turns off her own treadmill and steps down to match her Number One's pose. "Your performance is exemplary as always," she says. "I'm concerned about _you_. I don't want you to let this single incident define you."

Michael sighs and looks down. "You've given orders that led to people's deaths before."

"More than once, I'm afraid."

"My training at the Science Academy addressed the inevitability of such events, but... it's proving less useful than expected."

Philippa smiles gently at her Number One. "I imagine that your training assumed whoever took it would be Vulcan," she replies.

Michael looks sharply back up, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "How were _you_ taught to deal with these situations?"

"Years of experience," Philippa says. She takes a step closer to her first officer and reaches out her hand. "Come with me. A discussion this serious requires tea."

* * *

By some mutual unspoken agreement, they go to the ship's observation lounge. It's far more private than the mess hall, and while there's no replicator in the room, there's an ample selection of drinks.

They make their selections and sit together by the window, and it falls to Philippa to break the silence. "If I had been leading the away team and I had sent you to investigate the anomalous readings, would you have done so?"

"Of course," Michael responds.

"As would any Starfleet officer when given a reasonable order. If you had been alone on that derelict, and comms failed, would you still have investigated?"

Michael's answer is immediate and emphatic. "I wouldn't be able to accept it if I hadn't. The mission was to find any survivors."

"So how is it your fault that your team followed your perfectly reasonable orders and found scavengers instead? How are you responsible for them masking their life signs?" This time Michael says nothing. Philippa sips her tea and continues. "You were the one giving orders on that ship, but everyone there made their own choices. You made the best choices you could, under the circumstances, and so did our ensigns. Starfleet believes it. I believe it. I hope someday you will believe it as well."

"Captain, I... thank you," Michael replies. "I hope to live up to the faith you're showing in me. However, I still feel diminished by this experience. I'm not sure I'll be able to use it as a means toward personal growth."

Philippa briefly considers reminding Michael that there is no need for rank in this space, but decides against it. It's best to fight only one battle at a time.

"I chose the _Shenzhou_ 's motto for a reason," she says instead. Michael looks up, but doesn't seem surprised at the apparent non sequitur. "All existing things _are_ really one. If you were the kind of person who _wouldn't_ feel diminished after such a trauma, I wouldn't want you on my crew. It's the fact that you know these decisions will harm you that will make you an effective leader."

The look on Michael's face isn't quite one of peace, but there is understanding there, as well as gratitude. "'The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own,'" she says, and sips her tea. "I always had trouble with that section of Surak's teachings."

"It's never too late to learn," Philippa says, and she's delighted to see a smile on Michael's face for the first time in two weeks. "You exhibited excellent leadership out there, and that included sharing the workload with those best equipped to handle it. Don't turn yourself into a martyr now by refusing to let others help you."

"You want me to talk to Dr. Nambue?"

"Only if you choose to. You could reach out to any of the medical staff as well. I won't make it an order. Or, if you would prefer something less formal, you can talk to me when you need to. It doesn't even have to be about anything in particular."

Michael takes a slow sip of her tea and lets it sit in her mouth for a moment. When she swallows and looks up, she says "I'd like that," and Philippa is certain that her own smile matches Michael's.


End file.
